party," said Harris. "They gave me a bid,
too, but it's steamer day to-morrow, and I've got to get my mail ready
for the Crown Prince Eitel. Mrs. Adair is to be there."

Hemingway nodded, and with pleasant anticipation waited. Of Mrs.
Adair, Harris always spoke with reverent enthusiasm, and the man who
loved her delighted to listen. But this time Harris disappointed him.

"And Fearing, too," he added.

Again Hemingway nodded. The conjunction of the two names surprised
him, but he made no sign. Loquacious as he knew Harris to be, he never
before had heard his friend even suggest the subject that to Zanzibar
had become of acute interest.

Harris filled the two glasses, and began to pace the room. When he
spoke it was in the aggrieved tone of one who feels himself placed in a
false position.

"There's no one," he complained suddenly, "so popularly unpopular as
the man who butts in. I know that, but still I've always taken his
side. I've always been for him." He halted, straddling with legs
apart and hands deep in his trousers pockets, and frowned down upon his
guest.

"Suppose," he began aggressively, "I see a man driving his car over a
cliff. If I tell him that road will take him over a cliff, the worst
that can happen to me is to be told to mind my own business, and I can
always answer back: 'I was only trying to help you.' If I don't speak,
the man breaks his neck. Between the two, it seems to me, sooner than
have any one's life on my hands, I'd rather be told to mind my own
business."

Hemingway stared into his glass. His expression was distinctly
disapproving, but, undismayed, the consul continued.

"Now, we all know that this morning you gave that polo pony to Lady
Firth, and one of us guesses that you first offered it to some one
else, who refused it. One of us thinks that very soon, to-morrow, or
even to-night, at this party you may offer that same person something
else, something worth more than a polo pony, and that if she refuses
that, it is going to break you all up, is going to hurt you for the
rest of your life."

Lifting his eyes from his glass, Hemingway shot at his friend a glance
of warning. In haste, Harris continued:

"I know," he protested, answering the look, "I know that this is where
Mr. Buttinsky is told to mind his business. But I'm going right on.
I'm going to state a hypothetical case with no names mentioned and no
questions asked, or answered. I'm going to state a